


When Sam was...

by mznaughty01



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha Dean, Alpha/Omega, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Dubious Consent, Intersex, M/M, Mpreg, Omega Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-11
Updated: 2013-06-11
Packaged: 2017-12-14 15:27:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/838462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mznaughty01/pseuds/mznaughty01
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sam is 8, Dean changes from a pup to an Alpha. When Sam is 12, he himself also experiences the change, but his isn't anywhere near the same as Dean's. In a world where Hunters are all Alphas and are also all the werewolf descendants of the god Odin, Sam is a rare and prized childbearing Omega.</p><p>And this is Sam's story throughout the years as he discovers what it truly means to be an Omega. And as he discovers what it means specifically to be an Omega in <i>his</i> family. This is also Sam's story of how he comes to the single most important realization of his life.</p><p>The only Alpha he'll <i>ever</i> want is Dean.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When Sam was...

**Author's Note:**

> Story written for the [2013 Werewolf Big Bang](http://werewolfbigbang.livejournal.com/). Lovely art by the talented [bluefire986](http://bluefire986.livejournal.com/1820.html).
> 
> Story also written for [this](http://spnkink-meme.livejournal.com/68163.html?thread=22793539#t22793539) prompt at the [SPN Kink Meme](http://spnkink-meme.livejournal.com/).
> 
> ETA - Shoot, guys, meant to add a warning on here before posting that there is one sexual scene on Dean's side that occurs in 16 year old Sam's view just in case that squicks anybody because of the ages. My apologies!

[ ](http://s1234.photobucket.com/user/bluefire986/media/When%20Sam%20Was/SamWas_Final.jpg.html)

[ ](http://s1234.photobucket.com/user/bluefire986/media/When%20Sam%20Was/Header8revised.jpg.html)

The smell was strong. Like _super_ strong.

Sam tried his best to focus on the colorful, slightly blurred images playing across the old tv in front of him and to ignore everything else. It was something that should’ve been easy for him to do because _The Simpsons_ were on, his favorite cartoon ever.

And tonight’s episode was new. It was about making bets and the Super Bowl and Lisa’s feelings getting hurt and about Bart being teased because of...Sam didn’t have the slightest idea.

Once the final credits rolled down the screen, he knew he would have to catch the episode later, when it played again as a repeat in a few weeks. He’d missed more than he’d seen, but that was okay. Just meant Dean would be able to watch with him that next time around, like he always did, and that everything would be new to the both of them for the most part. Because Sam was sure Dean had paid even less attention to the last thirty minutes than Sam had.

Sighing, Sam used the remote to flick the tv off, then laid it on the ground. He scrambled up off his seat on the matted carpet at the foot of the bed his brother lay on and onto his knees. Chin settled on arms he’d folded one on top of the other next to Dean’s feet, he watched his brother.

Eyes shut tight, Dean was asleep, but it wasn’t a peaceful rest. His face was red, his short hair was stuck to his sweaty forehead and his breathing was fast and uneven. Just as he’d been doing for the past few hours, whether awake or not, Dean twisted and turned, hands mindlessly shoving the thin, wet sheets further down his body until they were tangled up in the lower part of his legs.

And the distracting smell seemed to increase with every passing minute— _every passing second_. The strong, spicy smell that came _from_ Dean. Though it wasn’t bad, was actually sort of nice, it was strange that Dean was the cause of it. Dean had never smelled _anything_ like this before. Only like his deodorant and cologne on most days. Or like body funk and sweat if whatever apartment or motel they were staying in didn’t have a working air conditioner during the summer months.

Maybe Dean was sick. That would possibly explain the smell. Could also be an explanation as to why he’d peeled his shirt and jeans off after handing an extra early dinner to Sam that consisted of a cinnamon flavored granola bar and an apple. And why he’d crawled into bed afterwards wearing nothing but his underwear. And why he’d remained there ever since. Dean was never, ever this inactive. He was always up and moving, laughing, talking, smart mouthing and playing pranks on Sam—he was always being _Dean_.

As if Dad not being here with them wasn’t bad enough, if Dean was sick, then he would be having an extra crappy birthday tomorrow.

But, even if Dad was somewhere else at the moment, he would come back if he knew just how sick Dean was. He would come back and he would know exactly what to do to help Dean get well again. Certain of what he needed to do, Sam stood, then walked over to the nightstand. He tipped the base of the phone upwards that sat on its top and slid out the small slip of paper Dad had shoved beneath it just the week before with a gruff warning it should be used for, “Emergencies only.”

If this wasn’t an emergency, Sam didn’t know what was.

Determined, he picked up the handset and held it cradled between his ear and shoulder as he dialed the ten digits written in Dad’s messy handwriting. The phone rang twice.

Then a deep, familiar voice rumbled, “This is John Winchester.”

“Dad?” Sam questioned, nervous to be disturbing him while he was busy hunting the monsters Dean had revealed to Sam were real just a few weeks ago, late on the night of Christmas Day. He wrapped and unwrapped the phone’s cord around his right wrist.

“Sam? Is everything all right? Where’s your brother?”

“He’s, uh, he’s sick.” Wrap. “He’s been in bed since just after we got home from—”

“Damn it,” Dad interrupted. “Tomorrow’s his birthday, ain’t it?”

“Yes, sir.” Unwrap.

“Thought it wasn’t until next week, closer to the end of the month. Thought I had enough time to get back to you boys. _Shit_.”

Wrap. “You’re not—”

A heavy whoosh of air cut Sam off. “I’m several states away and right in the middle of something important. I can’t leave here just yet.”

Disappointed, Sam freed his hand completely of the cord and sat down on the edge of the second bed, the one furthest from the door, and stared at his sweaty, sleeping brother. Dean’s face was scrunched up tight in discomfort. “But I think Dean’s really sick right now! When _will_ you be here?”

“Not for a few more days. Listen, your brother is going to be fine. His body is just getting him ready to take on the responsibility that comes along with being a, well, uh, let’s just say that his body is getting him ready to take on more responsibility.”

 _Getting him ready to take on more responsibility. Getting him ready to be just like Dad. Getting him ready to be a Hunter._ And that was the first clue Sam could ever remember receiving from Dad as to what the man spent so much time away doing. “Dad, what’s happening to Dean?”

“He’s just going through the change pups go through when they turn thirteen. He’s becoming an Alpha.”

“Does that mean that _I’m_ going to go through this, too?” The horror in Sam’s voice was evident. He hadn’t even tried to hide it. He _hated_ getting sick because Dean always teased him nonstop and called him a whiny shit whenever it happened. And Sam could never say anything back because he _did_ complain nonstop anytime he didn’t feel well.

Dad confirmed with a chuckle, “Yeah, boy, you’ll be going through the change, too.”

“But I don’t want to go through it! You never said anything about us ever having to go through any type of change to become an—”

“Sam! You _will_ control yourself.”

A huff of frustration escaped Sam, but he complied with the order regardless. Not that he had any other choice as the order had come not just from Dad, but from Dad as the leader of their pack. “Yes, sir.”

“It’s just a part of growing up. A part of _what_ we are. And you’re right, son, I should have prepared you both for this to happen a long time ago, but I didn’t and there’s nothing to be done about it now.” The rise and fall of several voices sounded in the background. “I have to go, but it’s your turn to take care of your brother for once. Just for tonight. You make sure the door and all the windows are locked tight and, whatever you do, you are _not_ to leave that room under any circumstances or to answer the door for anyone.”

“Yes, sir,” Sam repeated a second time, resigned to his future. At least he had a few more years of peace until it happened. Time enough to catch a cold, the flu—some other life threatening sickness—in preparation.

“You also make sure Dean drinks plenty of water so he doesn’t get dehydrated.” A pause. “He’ll be fine by tomorrow, Sam. Better than ever.”

The call had just been ended, the handset just returned to its cradle, when Dean’s sleep filled voice asked, “Who were you talking to?”

In an instant, Sam was on his feet and standing next to his brother. “Dad.”

Hazy, dark green eyes gazed up at Sam. “You shouldn’t have called him. I don’t feel good, I’m hot as hell, but I think...I think I’m going to be okay.”

“You’re not even really sick right now. Dad said you’re just going through the change.”

“Change? What change?”

“Into an Alpha.”

“An Alpha, huh? Just like Dad. Very cool.” Dean puffed out his chest. “Means when I order you around now, you _have_ to do everything I say.” He grinned as his eyelids slid shut. “C’mere.”

“Dad said to get you some water and he also said to—”

“I don’t want a glass of water. And I already know exactly what all Dad told you to do. The door has been locked since right after we walked through it and the windows never unlocked to begin with. Now, as your superior, I _command_ you to c’mere.”

“You’re not really the boss of me, y’know,” Sam argued even as he crawled up on the bed and stretched out next to Dean.

“Obviously I am. You just did what I said, right?” Dean scooted up behind Sam, his chest pressed firm to Sam’s back and his arms wrapped tight around Sam’s middle.

“Yeah, because I _chose_ to.”

“Uh-huh, okay, Sammy, whatever you say.” Nose buried in Sam’s neck, Dean breathed deep, then mumbled, “All I need r’here.”

Within minutes, Sam’s clothes were wet and clinging to his skin, making him uncomfortable. When he started squirming around, Dean woke up again and helped him shuck off his shirt and he also helped him peel off his soaked jeans. A long time later, Sam eased out of Dean’s grip and wiggled out of his underwear on his own. Then he shifted to his second form, the form Dad had long ago drilled into him was a super important secret that could only be revealed to Dad and Dean and to others who also had a second form, like Uncle Bobby, Grandpa Samuel and Grandma Deanna, and even Granddaddy Henry, and like all the rest of Mom’s family and Dad’s, too.

After that? It was still gross, having his fur drenched by Dean’s sweat. But it was the best sleep Sam had gotten in a long time, with Dean’s comforting smell filling up his sensitive nose with each and every inhale. Dean smelled like safety, security, protection.

Which meant waking up first thing the next morning to find a snarling, wolfed out Dean standing over him in a display of dominance confused Sam. But Sam quickly remembered what was going on, remembered that he was now the only pup in his family. And as that only pup, he had the lowest rank in the pack, as demonstrated by Dean’s current behavior.

Sam bared his tummy and Dean accepted the action as the submission it was before flopping down on the bed beside Sam. He sniffed Sam’s muzzle and licked across Sam’s throat. The swipes of the rough tongue were relaxing and as gentle as they ever were as Dean groomed Sam, head to paws, just like Dean had done a million times in the past.

While they were still family, still the most important person to each other in the whole, entire world, they were clearly no longer equals. It felt...right. Like things were exactly as they were supposed to be.

[ ](http://s1234.photobucket.com/user/bluefire986/media/When%20Sam%20Was/Header12revised.jpg.html)

It was chillier than normal. Uncle Bobby had made several comments over the past few days that every morning of this May had started out cold enough to freeze the balls off of a pool table.

Sam couldn’t tell. Because he was hot. Burning up.

He remembered every single detail from the day before Dean had turned thirteen. Dean had been fine when he’d woken up that day. When he’d gone to school that morning he had been fine and he had been fine, later, when he’d been standing outside of Sam’s school, waiting for Sam so they could walk back to the motel together. All the way up until about half an hour after they’d entered their room, Dean had been fine.

Then Dean had gotten sick. It had been about four in the afternoon.

Because he’d been so scared shitless, every second of that day was imprinted deep into Sam’s memory, now and forevermore. Amen.

And that just made it all the more obvious that something different was going on with Sam now, the day before his own thirteenth b-day. Because Sam’s body had been on fire since he’d first cracked his eyes open a few hours ago and it was only around nine in the morning now. Yet Sam’s discomfort was already at an extreme level. And steady rising.

Not even sitting out in one of Uncle Bobby’s old junkers with all the windows rolled down and wearing nothing but a threadbare t-shirt and gym shorts helped. Uncle Bobby’s two mutts were huddled together under the truck right across from Sam, wrapped tight around each other. Really, how ridiculous was it that Sam felt a spark of jealousy because they had to share each other’s warmth in order to not freeze to death?

“Sam?” Dean called from the direction of the hellishly hot house Sam had escaped from when it had still been dark outside. “Where you at? Time to eat.”

Door of the Chevelle flung open, Sam was just about to climb out. But the sudden flare of pain originating from between his thighs when his behind scooted across the cracked leather of the seat stopped him. He’d never felt anything like it before.

“Hey, Sam! I really hope you’re not trying to play hide-and-seek with me, man. We’re both too old for that kiddy shit.”

Pushing through his pain, Sam crawled out the car. Then collapsed on the ground, next to the front tire. His head spun, his eyes filled with tears and a throbbing soreness radiated out from his crotch and consumed his entire body.

“Dean,” he tried to shout, but his voice came out as no more than a hoarse croak. “Dean, I’m here.”

Vision swimming, Sam lay there, sure he was about to die and that all his brother would find was his corpse, lifeless but not cold (haha). And that may have actually happened if the dogs hadn’t chosen that exact moment to venture out from their hiding place, running in excited circles and barking like crazy, when Dean yelled, “The hell you at, freak?”

Seconds later—or maybe it was hours, because it _felt_ like hours, days even—Dean crouched next to Sam. He ran his hands up Sam’s arms, across his chest and down his sides, seeking out injuries. “Shit, Sam, what’s wro—what is that _smell_? Is that coming from you? What’s happening to you, Sammy? I need you to talk to me, man, you _gotta_ tell me what’s going on.”

“Hurts,” Sam whispered.

“What hurts?”

“You never told me that it would _hurt_.” Then Sam was beyond the point of speaking any further.

So he just relaxed against Dean after Dean carefully gathered him up off the ground, his back supported by one of Dean’s arms, his legs draped over the other, and his own arms wrapped around Dean’s neck. He took comfort in Dean’s soothing smell, that same smell he’d been taking comfort in for the past four plus years, as Dean held him close while taking off in a fast jog. He hid his face in Dean’s shoulder, wishing he could crawl inside of Dean and hide ‘til the change was over, hide _‘til the end of time_ , when Dean burst inside of Uncle Bobby’s house and called out, “Dad! _Dad_! There’s something wrong with Sammy!”

Because the last thing Sam _ever_ wanted was to appear weak in front of Dad.

All too soon, though, that was the least of Sam’s concerns. Because not only did Dad come running, Uncle Bobby did, too. But it was the smell of two unknown Alphas which caused Sam to seize up in Dean’s hold, caused the distressed whimpers to fall from his lips.

Both had unfamiliar odors that were foul. Their odors had something strong running through them that made Sam cringe away and cling to Dean even more.

“I’ll be damned, Mack,” a voice belonging to neither Dad nor Uncle Bobby said. “You smell that? Smells like we got us a young, tender Omega here on our hands.”

 _Omega_. That single word was enough to penetrate through the fog of pain Sam felt and to push his panic to the side. Sam knew a little about Omegas, but not a lot. He’d spent the last few days reading all he could about the change he was about to go through. Just about everything Uncle Bobby had handed over focused on what happened during the transition from pup to Alpha, although a few had a sentence or two about Omegas.

But there had been one book titled _Ulfhednar_ Sam had skimmed through which seemed to contain the most useful information when it came to Alphas, Omegas and werewolves in general. First pages had revealed that during the long and complex history of Hunters, every so often a werewolf was born who would turn into an Omega the day of his or her thirteenth year, rather than into the more prevalent Alpha.

Since the beginning of time, Omegas had been considered to be the purest of the pure, lycanthropy powerful in their veins as they represented life. Although all werewolves were descended from Odin, Omegas were the offspring of his fertility blessed children, the Wulfsung, while Alphas were the progeny of his fierce warrior children, the Volsung, who had been charged with keeping the world free of the evil unleashed by Loki. In essence, Omegas were nature’s way of keeping a bloodline strong in response to the dilution that invariably occurred whenever werewolves had pups with humans, even if those humans had been bitten and turned prior to the mating.

There was only one type of family an Omega was born to. The kind who needed all members to be sharp and on point. The kind who couldn’t take the risk of weaknesses or dulled senses in any of its members. The kind who was aware of the importance in being very selective when it came to the mating and breeding of their Omegas. The kind who had been involved in the world of hunting for a _long_ time.

Families like that of Mom’s, the Campbells. Families like that of Dad’s, the Winchesters.

Omegas were rare, yet essential to the very survival of werewolves. They played a very important role.

But it was still shit that Sam wasn’t an Alpha like his dad and brother both were, but a fucking _male chick_ for all intents and purposes.

“Shit, Winchester, one of your boys is a bitch, huh?” a slightly higher pitched voice added.

Or, as some Alphas liked to say, Sam was now a bitch. And every Alpha loved a bitch. Yeah, Sam had read _all_ about the extreme attraction. Something to do with heats and biological imperatives reducing an unmated Alpha’s brain down to four thoughts: claim, knot, mate, impregnate.

With Omegas being so few and far between, for an Alpha to be chosen as a mate for one by an Omega’s pack leader really meant something. It meant that Alpha had proven that he or she was a real bad ass motherfucker that no other had yet defeated and it also meant that he or she was the person to challenge—and to beat—if lesser Alphas were after a quick way to gain respect. The end result was that throughout time Omegas had been at the center of some of the most violent and gruesome confrontations to ever go down between Alphas.

“Take another step towards him and I won’t be responsible for what happens...to either of you,” Dad remarked after a few long seconds had passed, all with Sam never removing his face from where he’d buried it.

Laughing, the first guy asked, “Who are we supposed to be scared of in this here situation?”

The second, “You?” Then, with a snort, “Or Singer?”

“Damn fools,” Uncle Bobby muttered. “It’s ain’t me nor John ya’ll need to be worried about tearing into your asses, though I’d gladly help. With all the lust rolling offa you two fuckheads, it’s Dean you’d better be concerned with.”

Tense, Dean held onto Sam just as tight as Sam held onto him. Loud growls rumbled through Dean’s chest, the vibrations traveling through every inch of Sam’s body that was pressed close. And it had never been more evident that Uncle Bobby had been speaking the truth when he’d made the comment a few days ago that word in the Hunting world was that Dean had made quite an impressive name for himself over the past few years, ever since he’d started going on hunts with Dad.

Because, right at that very moment, Dean was scary as fuck.

“You shitting us, right, Singer? Little Deany over there should still be sucking on his mama’s tit. Considering, of course, that she hadn’t been killed all those years back by a—what was it, Lenny, a demon?”

“Yep, shoulda been a simple exorcism. One and done.”

“Shoulda been. But it wasn’t. Because you and your wife were too busy playing house, Winchester, too busy trying to be Joe Average.”

“Mary,” Dad said, voice cracking, “it was what Mary wanted. I’ve tried to keep our boys out of the life as long as possible. She didn’t want this for them.”

“And that’s why she’s dead. You two were so determined to forget your heritage, that when that heritage came to pay you an unpleasant visit in the middle of the night, you didn’t remember what to do.” A contemptuous huff sounded. “All goes to show that you really don’t deserve that Omega, whether he’s your son or not. You’ve more than proven that you’re not capable of protecting your family. Of providing _him_ with the protection he needs.”

“Fuck talking to them. Let’s just take care of them and take the boy.”

There was a quick flash of a leering, skeletal face, followed by a glimpse of a fat, grinning, smug face, before Sam’s face was once again hidden. This time in the flannel overshirt Uncle Bobby wore.

His low voice overlaying the grunt of pain that came from one man and the choked gurgles which came from the other, Dean said, “Talking about my mom is enough for me to fuck you up. But talking about my baby brother, thinking about touching him—thinking about _taking him away from me_? That’s enough for me to fucking _kill_ you.”

“Bobby, get Sam upstairs!” Dad yelled. “Now!”

Sam didn’t know how long it took for Dean and Dad to deal with the other Hunters. He did know that Uncle Bobby stayed with him the entire time, seated on the chair next to the bed Sam was curled up on. But Sam was too consumed by his intense sensations of _hotheathurtpain_ to ask Uncle Bobby about the animalistic growls and snarls and answering pained shouts which floated up from below and down the hall to the room they were holed up in.

It was the dip of the mattress when Dean climbed beside him that alerted Sam to the arrival of his brother and the departure of Uncle Bobby. Skin warm and damp from the shower he had just taken (and, holy shit, what had happened that required Dean to need a shower?), Dean settled in behind Sam, clothed the same as Sam in just his boxer briefs. Dean’s fresh, comforting scent washed over Sam, soothing him just as much as Dean’s close proximity, the hand Dean rubbed low on Sam’s belly and Dean’s whispered promises of, “It’s gonna be alright. I gotcha, Sammy, I gotcha. I’m always gonna take care of you.”

By midnight, Sam was convinced he would’ve preferred to have caught the bubonic plague over the painful, not to mention humiliating, experience of his body developing a womb and a working, fully functional vagina. He was also convinced there was only one reason he came out on the other side of the last few hours of the change with his sanity still intact.

 _I gotcha, Sammy, I gotcha_.

 _I’m always gonna take care of you_.

[ ](http://s1234.photobucket.com/user/bluefire986/media/When%20Sam%20Was/Header16_1revised.jpg.html)

The barstool was hard and uncomfortable, well on the way to making Sam’s ass numb. He had been sitting there for far too long and would unfortunately continue to sit there for longer still. Wasn’t like he had anything better to do, anywhere more exciting to go.

Nope, Sam didn’t get to do _exciting_. That was reserved strictly for his dad and older brother. The big, bad Alphas of the Winchester family.

So, while they were off meeting up with some of Dad’s established contacts, Sam got the pleasure of slouching on the hard, uncomfortable barstool inside of the dim, smoky bar. Any excitement he may have possibly been able to muster over being allowed in a bar for the first time ever, over the thought that Dad had finally realized Sam wasn’t just some weak Omega to be sheltered and coddled, had been nixed soon as Sam had realized the exact reason _why_ he’d been dropped off there.

A glass of Coke appeared on the scarred surface of the bar, dead center in the spot Sam had been trying to set on fire using just his eyes and the power of frustration. “This piece of wood doing something to offend you, hun?”

Ellen was the owner of Harvelle’s Roadhouse along with her husband Bill. While she may have only been a human, there weren’t many Hunters around stupid enough to get on Ellen’s bad side. And that cautiousness had _nothing_ to do with her husband being an Alpha and _everything_ to do with Ellen. And her protective streak which ran ten miles deep for her young Alpha daughter and, apparently, for the Omega son she’d just met that very day of one of her husband’s fellow Hunters. Also had a lot to do with the rifle she always kept within easy reach, the Smith and Wesson she kept tucked down the back of her jeans, and her legendary willingness to use both.

Ellen Harvelle was the sole reason behind Dad dropping Sam off at the Roadhouse, a dive that was filled with at least ten to fifteen Hunters—some mated, most not—at any given time.

Shoulders hunched, head ducked down, Sam peered up at Ellen through his fringe of bangs. “No.”

Using the cloth she held in her right hand to wipe down the bar, Ellen replied, “Sam, I know you’re upset with your dad for leaving you here, but you seem like a smart enough kid, so I also know you understand why.”

“Still doesn’t make it suck any less.”

And it didn’t.

It completely sucked ass that it was Sam’s Omega nature that had resulted in his introduction to, and subsequent visit with, the Harvelles. Bobby had gifted Sam with his own copy of _Ulfhednar_ the year Sam had turned fourteen and there was only one common denominator documented in the book about the heats all Omegas experienced. They went through their first one, the most intense one, sometime during their sixteenth year. After that, well, each Omega was different, some going through a heat every month, some every quarter, some twice year, some only every however many years that their bodies felt like going through one.

Sam’s sixteenth birthday had passed four months ago. Four _heat free_ months ago.

But that first heat was on the way. Close. When Dean had snapped at Sam that very morning for being more of a whiny shit than normal, Sam had snapped right back that it was just because he’d been feeling off since he’d woken up. Hot. Twitchy. More amped up than usual over the thought of sex (which just, yeah, _wow_ , because as it was, Sam’s interest in sex was on par with any other healthy sixteen year old boy’s). Somewhere between a grinning Dean wheedling an embarrassing admission out of a squirming Sam that, yes, Sam did get both a boner and a wet pussy whenever he got horny and Dad slapping a hand over Sam’s mouth to make Sam _Shut the fuck up, boy, just—just keep it to yourself_ , it had been decided that Sam would _not_ be coming along for the supplies run.

Too much of a risk of Sam going into heat around the Alphas Dad had been doing good business with for years.

Too much of a risk of future transactions being ruined if there was an encore performance of Dean’s almost deadly routine of three years past that Dad had just barely been able to stop if someone looked at Sam wrong, tried to touch Sam or, worse, tried to issue another _challenge_ over Sam.

Since they were only in town for a few hours, for the specific purpose of purchasing a silver bladed knife with a special, blessed handle made from the bones of a Shaman from the Hunnu Dynasty, there was no motel room for Sam to hole up in and wait it out. Meaning Sam was stuck. At the Roadhouse. With Ellen. And with a crap ton of Alphas who were obviously interested in Sam, obviously tempted by him if the sly glances they tossed in his direction were anything to go by, yet too fond of keeping their asses free of silver bullets to approach.

Ellen tossed the cleaning cloth over her shoulder. “Your father is just trying to pro—”

“No, no, I get it, I do,” Sam said, both hands up, palms facing Ellen, to stop the oncoming lecture. “It just, y’know, still sucks.”

An exasperated smile covering her face, Ellen shook her head. Then nudged the perspiration covered glass closer to Sam. “Your brother called about ten minutes ago, hun. They’ll be here for you soon enough. Now stop sulking and drink up.”

Sulking? Sam wasn’t sulking. He never sulked. Nope. Not ever.

Realizing his bottom lip was poked out, Sam sucked it into his mouth as he watched Ellen serve yet another beer to an old, grizzled Alpha down on the opposite end of the bar. Watched her make conversation with a small group of Alphas sitting at a table together, heads bent over the book they had spread open in front of them. Watched her until his glass was empty and he was beyond the point of mere boredom and back into the land of frustration.

He was so over Dad and Dean thinking—

The warmth that had simmered beneath the surface of his skin all morning blazed through Sam’s body, a fiery inferno. There was a rush of wetness between his thighs, the moistness making his folds slick. A sweetish odor wafted up and filled his nose.

And Sam knew. Fuck, but he _knew_.

He needed—he needed to get away. Ellen was still at the table with the three Hunters, her back to Sam as her weaker nose hadn’t alerted her there was something very wrong. But most of the Alphas present were aware of exactly what was happening.

It was the flaring of the nose belonging to the beer guzzling Alpha and his drunken lurch to his feet which forced Sam to his own. He didn’t call out for Ellen because he didn’t want to attract any more attention to himself than he already had. Slowly, slowly, so as to keep watch on all those around him—too many, not right, _wrongwrongwrong_ —he backed away to the bathroom, turned when he felt the handle digging into his lower back. The plan was to—

A hard body knocked into Sam from behind, simultaneously pushing him all the way into the bathroom he had just opened up and down to the tile floor. He jumped to his feet and whirled towards whoever had just trapped him inside the small room as the door slammed shut and the deadbolt slid into place.

Buzzed light brown hair. Gray eyes. Dilated pupils. Tall. Bulky. Staring at Sam, the guy breathed, “You’re not even mated, are you?”

Sam leaned towards the guy, entranced by his odor that so appealed to Sam’s heat riddled brain. It was very similar to those other two Hunters from that day so long ago.

Lust. It was the guy’s lust luring Sam in.

The realization disgusted Sam. This guy was _at least_ twice his age. Despite what his body wanted, Sam forced himself to stand up straight and to meet the guy’s gaze head on. “I am. Any my Alpha is going to be looking for me.”

“You’re lying, kid. You don’t have an Alpha. I’ve been watching for over an hour and haven’t seen anyone approach you other than Ellen. And there’s no mated Alpha alive whose instincts would allow them to leave their Omega without the protection of at least one other pack member to watch over them. Besides, in addition to smelling your heat, boy, now that I’m close enough, I can also smell that you don’t carry any type of scent marking you as taken. So, what, did you get mad at your pack leader and run away because you were having a little temper tantrum?”

Something heavy banged against the door, causing it to shudder in its frame.

“Fuck off,” the guy sneered at whoever was on the other side. “He’s _mine_.”

That was Dean out there. Sam could smell him. Could smell how _pissed_ he was, his odor spiking as he thumped against the door a second time.

Never taking his eyes off Sam, the guy kicked backwards, foot colliding with the wooden slab. “I said _he fucking belongs to me_.”

“Sam, you in there?” Dad asked.

“Yeah, I’m here. I’m in here.”

“You okay, son?”

“Looks like Ellen called your family to come and get you, huh?” the guy questioned before Sam could answer Dad. “Well, they’re just going to have to deal. Because I’m about to take you from them. I’m going to mate you, knot your ass real good.”

“ _Sam_! Answer me, damn it! Are you okay?”

“Yeah, but—”

“Be _quiet_ ,” the guy ordered. “And be still. Because if you fight me, this is going to hurt a lot worse than it has to.”

He backed Sam up against the sink, hemming Sam in and preventing Sam from being able to land any solid punches. The guy was too big, dodging Sam’s blows even as he fumbled Sam’s jeans open.

Again and again, Dean hit the door. The casing surrounding the bolted deadbolt cracked—splintered—then gave way.

The door flew open. And Dean leaped into the bathroom, a mass of golden brown raised hackles. He took the guy down to the floor. Had his jaws open and mouth around the guy’s neck, teeth poised to rip through flesh and bone.

“Don’t you do that, Dean,” Ellen said, pushing past Dad who just stood there watching with eyebrows raised. Her gun was out, but pointed at the ground.

Sharp tips of his teeth already dimpling the guy’s skin, Dean bit down, just a little. Blood flowed from the wounds in thin lines that pooled on the ground below to form a crimson puddle.

“You do it and you know what’ll happen next,” Ellen tried to reason. “You kill him and you’re going to end up in jail.”

That’s when Dad finally spoke. A single word chock full of meaning. “Dean.”

And Dean was up off the guy. Shifted back to his human form, naked, and standing in front of Sam, blocking Sam from the sight of the too curious, still _too interested_ Alphas who had crowded around the outside of the bathroom.

“Back to your tables! All of you!” Ellen ordered. “Or get the hell out.”

When it was just the five of them left, the guy on the floor pushed himself up with one hand while slapping the other over the raw mess that was now his neck. “Fuck you,” he said, glaring up at Dean. “I was well within my rights to claim him. He’s not marked, doesn’t carry the scent of any Alpha, and he was here _all by himself_.”

“So in your mind that meant it was okay to try and rape my brother?” Dean asked. Moving over so he stood to the side of Sam, Dean ordered, “Sammy, shirt off.”

Confused, Sam stared at Dean. “Wha—”

“Do it now, Sam,” Dad ordered.

Sam unbuttoned his overshirt and slipped it off, then laid it across the counter of the sink. Next, he pulled his t-shirt up and over his head and laid it across the sink as well. He looked first to Dad for further direction, but when none came he turned his attention to Dean.

A sharp gasp escaped Sam.

Because Dean’s cock was hard. And getting harder as he pumped it in fast, furious pulls. The expression on his face still reflected how pissed he was, and the fact he was doing this in front of Sam, in front of Dad, in front of _Ellen_ , proved that whatever Dean was up to had nothing to do with pleasure. In only seconds, Dean spurted into the palm he held cupped at the end of his dick.

All Sam could do was look on in shock as Dean smeared the hot, white liquid over Sam’s bared chest and stomach.

All Sam could feel was horror at the extremeness of the heat which consumed his entire body when Dean’s hand made contact with his too sensitive skin.

“Can you smell _that_?” Dean spat, oblivious to the struggle going on within Sam. Then he wrapped his still wet hand in the guy’s hair and used his grip to shove the guy forward, nose first, into Sam’s come covered belly. “That enough of a mark for you? Get it now? _Sam is not yours to claim_.”

The guy fell to the ground when Dean let go of him. He immediately jumped to his feet, made a move in Dean’s direction—

Stopped at the sound of Ellen’s gun cocking. “I think,” Ellen said, “that it’s time for you to get going now.”

With a curse, the guy shoved past Ellen and Dad.

Ellen stepped out the bathroom after him. After a few seconds, she reappeared and said, “He’s gone. John, go grab a seat at the bar and I’ll serve you up a beer. Sam, clean yourself up—” Dean growled “—well, at very least straighten yourself up, then come join your daddy and I’ll get you a beer, too. Dean, stop it with all that noise. Your brother is in need of a cold one right about now with what he just went through and with what all he still has yet to go through over the next few days with this being his first heat and all. And go see Ash about finding you something to wear since you destroyed your clothes like an immature pup still learning how to control a shift.”

Sam watched them head out the bathroom, Dad and Dean following Ellen’s orders. He was still in shock. Still in heat.

Most of all, he was still confused over his unexpected and intense reaction to his _fucking big brother_.

Seriously, his life really, truly did completely suck ass sometimes.

[ ](http://s1234.photobucket.com/user/bluefire986/media/When%20Sam%20Was/Header16_2revised.jpg.html)

Dean was at the counter, hitting on the girl behind the register. She was exactly his type. A cute bottle blond with big boobs and a bigger tendency to giggle at every little thing that came out of his mouth, no matter how ridiculous it was or how eye roll worthy.

Rolling his own eyes on behalf of the clueless girl, Sam left his brother to his hookup. Going by Dean’s scent, he wanted to get into her pants pretty bad. Then again, for the past couple months, Dean pretty much smelled like he wanted to get into someone’s pants _all_ the time. Even when no one else was around but Dad and Sam.

Eternal horniness—just all a part of Dean’s charm.

The arcade was gigantic with more than a few oldies but goodies. Like Pac-Man. And Tempest. Sam had just decided to try his hand at a couple rounds of Space Duel when a slim arm reached past him to slip a few quarters into the game, enough for two people to play.

“Hope you don’t mind?” a lilting voice asked. The girl was near the same age as Sam, same height, too, but much thinner. She had long brown hair tied back off her face in a neat ponytail with wispy ends that reached down to the middle of her back.

“Umm—n-n-no?” Sam stammered. Sweet lilacs or sweet roses—or sweet something flowery—blossomed in the air when she stepped closer. “I mean, no, of course I don’t mind.”

“Good.” A smirk curved her glossy, pink lips upwards. “Now get ready to get your ass handed to you—?”

“Sam.”

“Lily.”

“Seriously?” Sam questioned with a quick laugh. Raised eyebrows was the only response he received. “Huh, seriously, then.”

One game turned into two and two into three. As claimed, Lily was good. She won the majority.

“It’s all in the wrists,” she advised, moving behind Sam. “Here, let me show you.” She reached around him, her hands settling on top of his. Nose nuzzling Sam’s neck, she said, “Jeez, you smell so good. In heat. And already marked, too, hmmm? But I don’t see your Alpha anywhere around...so how ‘bout if I make you mine instead? How’s that sound?”

And it wasn’t until that very moment that Sam realized he _was_ in heat again. Not nearly as bad as the first one, the warmth buzzing through his blood all day and the tingles playing across his skin had both been so low key he’d unintentionally ignored their true meaning. In all actuality, he had thought his elevated excitement was the result of Dean’s promise earlier that morning to drive Sam to the arcade for a couple hours of fun after dinner.

Sam pushed back into the body behind him. He couldn’t help himself. The girl’s scent was so sweet. So appealing. She smelled of lust, but without nearly all the aggression and foulness that had so freaked Sam out in the past when he had been confronted with the strong aroma.

Lips pressed to his neck. He tilted his head to the side, wanting to feel more, wanting her to do more. He—

“I’m really gonna need for you to back up off my Omega,” Dean’s voice rang out. It was low, but tight with anger. The same anger he’d shown with the Hunter in the bathroom at the Roadhouse. And with the two Hunters at Bobby’s house.

But why didn’t Dean understand. Unlike with the previous occasions, Sam wanted it this time. Lily was soft and pretty and—and she could give Sam what he needed. Even though he wasn’t able to feel her knot rubbing against his ass, and didn’t have the slightest clue as to how a mating would work with a female as his Alpha, Sam instinctively knew Lily could snuff out the ever increasing heat that burned through him. Could satisfy his body’s cravings the same as any other Alpha, no matter what she possessed between her thighs.

“Dean, no,” Sam said, lids fluttering shut over his eyes. “It’s okay.”

“But didn’t you hear him, pretty boy?” Lily asked, question directed to Dean. She slid one hand up Sam’s arm, the tips of her fingers like electric sparks on Sam’s skin. “He said it’s okay.”

“Yep, I heard him. But do I give a fuck what he wants right now? Nope, not at all. But what I do give a fuck about is you backing the fuck up off him like I said.”

“You just don’t get it, do you? He doesn’t want you anymore. He’s choosing me, so I think _you’re_ the one who needs to back off.”

“And that’s where you’re wrong, sweetheart.”

Sam’s eyes flew open when a strong hand clamped onto his wrist with an iron hold and yanked him away from Lily. He spent exactly one half of a second mourning the loss of her touch. Then a familiar lightning scorched through his body. The exact same in intensity as when Dean had rubbed his come into the flesh of Sam’s stomach for the first time ever during Sam’s last heat. But more potent than all the times Dean had touched Sam since, whether it was to punch Sam in the shoulder for being what he deemed an annoying shit or for the purpose of periodically strengthening his mark.

In that moment, just about everything was downgraded to a status of _not quite so important_. Because the only real thing of any importance was the heavy weight of Dean’s fingers encircling Sam’s wrist. How right it felt.

Breathing fast, Sam pressed close to Dean. In the very tiny, small part of his brain that wasn’t obsessed with his brother, he processed that Lily was on the ground though he couldn’t care less as to how she got there.

“Did you really just mush me in the face?” she screeched.

“Yeah, well, you’re sorta, kinda a girl so I couldn’t _hit_ you. My options were severely limited.” Tone holding a note of warning, Dean added, “Just stay down until we’re gone, all right. We’re leaving out now.” He let go of Sam’s wrist in favor of slinging his arm around Sam’s shoulders instead. Maneuvering Sam up the long aisle of loud, clanging machines and out the door of the arcade, Dean said, “Seems like it’s time to get your pheromone leaking ass locked down tight again, Sammy.”

Code that they were about to go find Dad so they could all leave town within the half hour. Necessary measures to throw off Lily as well as any other interested Alphas from her pack that would surely come sniffing around if she told any of them about Sam. Same as what had happened with Sam’s last heat, the next few hours would find the Winchesters in another cheap motel room in another city, somewhere far away from where they currently were. The next days would be spent with Dean and Dad taking turns standing watch, bodies strapped down with guns filled with silver bullets, knives with blades of silver and any and all other weapons known to be harmful to Hunters.

All the while, Sam would ride out the misery of his heat in a bed all by himself. Yearning for Dean the whole, entire time. Dean, who would be so near, yet still so far away. Frustratingly unobtainable.

[ ](http://s1234.photobucket.com/user/bluefire986/media/When%20Sam%20Was/Header16_3revised.jpg.html)

It had taken a while, but there were a few key things Sam had learned over the past few months about how his heat would play out whenever it hit:

The time between his cycles was forty-five days exactly.

His heat would last for seventy-two hours down to the minute.

Every unmated Alpha within breathing distance not related to him by blood would turn into a would be rapist.

Then there was Dean. Who was in a league all his own. Would be rapists turned Dean into a would be killer. That was well and good and all, but what wasn’t so cool was that Dean also turned into a would be killer over the people who Sam was genuinely interested in.

As Dean was proving right at that very moment. With one of Sam’s classmates. A classmate who wasn’t a werewolf, a Hunter or an Alpha. The guy wasn’t even a jock!

Joel was just a normal, slightly geeky guy Sam had met the month before. A fellow member of the Mathletes Club, he had drawn Sam’s attention when Sam had first arrived in town because of how shy he was and also because he had been the only person at Eastwood High to show any sort of friendliness towards Sam.

Through a few conversations, Sam had learned that Joel was as much of a virgin as Sam was himself. And also that he didn’t care that Sam was intersexed, that he thought it was kind of cool and could he see please. Since Sam already knew from _Ulfhednar_ that one sure way an Omega could find some satisfaction during a heat without the risk of getting themselves mated in the process was to have sex with a human (no knot equaled no mating), Sam had snuck out of the apartment while Dad had been engrossed by the news playing on the tv and Dean in the yard working on the Impala.

It had only been a five minute walk to Joel’s house and Sam had arrived to find his friend waiting outside for him, behind an old shed his family no longer used. He’d pushed Sam up against the vinyl siding while pressing sloppy, wet kisses to Sam’s neck.

Joel had been into it. Sam had been into it.

But neither had been so far gone to not notice the glittering eyes or the aggressive snarls coming from the wolf crouched down close to the ground a few feet away from them in a position that indicated imminent attack.

“Ay dios mio!” Joel shouted, stumbling against the wall of the shed, landing right next to Sam, shoulder-to-shoulder.

“What the fuck, Dean!” Sam shouted, the slip-up out of his mouth before he could stop it. Even though he knew it wouldn’t make a difference, he kicked out at his brother. “Go home! Now!”

True to form, Dean didn’t budge. The growls did stop now that Joel was no longer touching Sam (which Sam definitely counted as a plus) as Dean sat on the ground and continued on with his staring at Joel.

In a whisper, Joel asked, “Is this your _pet_ or something?”

Because he was so pissed off and because he wanted Dean to be pissed off, too, Sam said, “Yes, this is my pain in the ass _pet_.”

“ _With the same name as your brother_?”

It had just been too much to hope that Joel would let that mistake pass. Sam’s life. “No, not really with the same name. But he’s a little stupid, y’know, so concessions had to be made.”

“Your pet is a wolf.”

“Husky.”

“Are you su—”

“Oh, I’m sure he’s not a wolf all right. And, actually, he’s probably less Husky and more mutt than anything, but we adopted his flea bitten ass from a rescue a few months ago regardless and have been hauling him around with us ever since.”

“Okay, but still, you’re living in a trailer the size of a shoebox with a dog the size of a direwolf and I’ve never seen him before. You’ve never _mentioned_ him before. Where do you guys even keep him, Sam?”

Frustrated, irritated, Sam knocked the back of his head against the shed behind him a couple times. “Can we—can we just not do this? Please?”

“Yeah, sure, man, whatever you want. And since we’re actually _not_ about to get attacked by a wild animal, how ‘bout we get back to where we were instead?” Joel reached a hand out towards Sam.

And the only reason he didn’t draw back a stump was because of Sam’s quick reflexes, honed from early morning training sessions with both his father and brother doing their best to lay Sam out flat. Necessary measures dictated by Dad because, although Sam would never, ever go on a hunt with them, he still needed to know how to protect his ass because everything of his in that general region of his body was such a hot commodity in the Hunting community.

Fingers wrapped in the scruff of Dean’s neck, Sam stopped his brother from taking a bite out of Joel. Then he watched Joel process what exactly had just happened. Then watched the only friend he’d made in the past few weeks back away slowly in fear.

Fear of Dean.

Fear of what Dean would do because of Sam.

Dean at his side, Sam began the walk home before Joel was even all the way out of sight. Tomorrow, home would be somewhere different and this small town nothing but a memory. Tonight, Dean could explain to Dad why they needed to leave despite there not being a threat of any Alphas anywhere near.

Funny thing was, before the end of the hour, which found Sam in the backseat of the Impala with Dad driving them to the west at eighty miles per hour on I-70, Sam wasn’t even mad anymore. Because he had Dean by his side in the backseat. Knew, even if he didn’t have anyone else, he would _always_ have Dean by his side.

For the rest of both of their lives.

[ ](http://s1234.photobucket.com/user/bluefire986/media/When%20Sam%20Was/Header17revised.jpg.html)

_This_ was just too much. Too. Much.

If Sam was being honest with himself, though, he couldn’t claim to be surprised that _this_ had happened to begin with. He’d known for years that life wasn’t fair. Because, if it was, Sam would’ve changed into an Alpha like every other member of his family had for the past two to three generations. Because, if it was, it would’ve been Dean who had changed into an Omega because Dean was undeniably pretty to Sam’s more classic handsomeness.

Because if it was, Sam wouldn’t have woken up to find himself faced with _this_ unpleasant little surprise the morning of his seventeenth year on Earth.

At least there was one thing going right: Dean wasn’t around to witness this latest humiliation. He had caught word a couple days ago of a restless spirit haunting a family a few towns over and had headed out by himself to take care of the easy salt-and-burn. Sam had spoken to him the night before and Dean had said that the murdered little girl was now at rest and had promised he would be back early to celebrate Sam’s birthday with him. Thankfully, he hadn’t shown up in the hour Sam had been awake and locked away by choice in the bathroom.

But that still left Dad to contend with.

“Sam?” The door Sam leaned on vibrated against his back with the heavy force of the fists that banged on it from the opposite side. “Sam! Open this door right now!”

“Go. Away. It’s only hem—”

“It’s _not_ hemorrhoids. You even said yourself that the blood was coming from, er, uh—gods-be-damned, boy, quit being a fool and just open this damn door!”

Sam slid down until his butt was on the floor. He snorted in laughter. Because it was funnier than fuck that John Winchester, seasoned Hunter of all things that went bump in the night, was even more freaked by certain aspects of Sam’s body than Sam was himself.

“Are you _laughing_? This isn’t funny, Sam, so stop it and open up the door. I...I read through your book this morning and I know what’s going on with you. I know you probably don’t think so, but this is a gift. A gift from Odin.” There was another round of knocks that were more punishing bangs than anything else. “I’m just trying to help here, boy, so open up and take these supplies I bought for you.”

Supplies. Like _this_ problem of Sam’s was a hunt that required the use of very specific tools.

Which, when considering all the blood involved and the need for pads, it sort of maybe was.

“Sam, I said open up!”

Pushed up to his feet, Sam looked at the spot he had just vacated, looked at the red smear he’d managed to leave behind on the tan tiles and the grout lines even though he wore both his boxers and pajama bottoms. His anger surged because, damn it, why should he have to deal with _this_ all by himself? Dad admitted to reading _Ulfhednar_ for the first time ever and to knowing what was going on with Sam. And since he wanted Sam to open up so fucking bad, Sam was going to open the fuck up.

Twisting the lock to the left, Sam pushed down on the handle. The door swung open with so much force, Dad had to jump backwards to avoid being hit. Pressing his advantage, Sam grabbed the box from his hands and—

Wait. Box. Not a package, but a _box_.

“ _Tampons_?” Sam asked, incredulous. “You bought me _tampons_?”

Dad rubbed a hand across the back of his neck, the expression on his face mildly uncomfortable. “Yeah. They were the first thing I saw and they’re, uh, extra strength, which—” his eyes flicked to the stained floor with a meaningful glance “—I think you’re in need of right now.”

Sam had never been to a doctor in his life. The fast healing, resilient nature of werewolves prevented the need to go, plus _werewolves_. So everything he knew about _this_ was from eavesdropping on the various conversations of the girls from the many high schools he’d attended over the past few years. The one thing that seemed to be a general consensus everywhere he’d been was that most girls who were still virgins didn’t use tampons for fear of the small chance it would accidentally tear their hymens.

And while Sam didn’t care so much about breaking his hymen, he’d been trying to break it for a few months now to get some much needed relief during his heats, he didn’t want it broken in this particular manner. And, at the very least, Dad should have had enough sense to buy Sam—his son he expended so much effort on keeping clean, pure and unmated—a package of the messier, but more comfortable to use pads and _not_ a box of invasive fucking tampons.

Pissed, embarrassed, horny— _all of it all at the same time_ —Sam ripped the cardboard top open and removed one of the tampons. He dropped the box to the floor and sent it flying down the hall with a vicious, contents emptying kick as he tore off the green paper covering the long, cylindrical item he held.

Clutching the cardboard container of the tampon in between the thumb and forefinger of one hand, Sam used the fingers of the other to shove up on its bottom. A thick, white, cottony projectile shot out and hit Dad in the chest.

“It’s clean,” Sam offered in apology that wasn’t apologetic in any way, shape or form as Dad brushed his hands down the front of his shirt frantically. “Also? That’s what I think of this so called gift from Odin and your supplies to take care of it.”

Lips thinned into a hard, flat line, Dad backed away. Silent.

 _This_ having a period business as a sign of his high fertility was a fucking joke. But at least Sam would be able to get his kicks in with it and to enjoy some part of it. Now just to wait until Dean got back home for even more fun involving raging hormones and tampons used as weapons against hyper masculine Alphas.

[ ](http://s1234.photobucket.com/user/bluefire986/media/When%20Sam%20Was/Header18revised.jpg.html)

It was that time again. Sam’s blood simmered in his veins, a low key heat just beneath the surface of his skin that burned throughout his entire body.

At least it was starting on a Friday afternoon this time around, meaning he would only have to miss one day of school. Mondays were always crappy days to miss out on, since that was the day lesson plans were distributed for the week, but just being limited to missing a single Monday versus missing Monday through Wednesday or Wednesday through Friday—or some other combination that included more than one school day—always made it a hell of a lot easier to get caught up once Sam returned from exile. More important, it was the very end of the school year, so one day of playing hooky wasn’t going to hurt anything. Because there was _nothing_ at this point that was going to prevent Sam from receiving his diploma.

Nothing that was going to stop him from graduating. Nothing to stop him from following through with his plans this coming up fall.

First thing Sam noticed as he cut across the lawn of the current house that was serving as Casa Winchester were his father and brother, who were both outside. Dad was in the truck he’d purchased a few weeks before, when he’d gifted the Impala to Dean, with the window rolled all the way down, crook of his elbow hanging out the opening. He looked like he was planning to take off after finishing whatever intense conversation he was in the process of having with Dean, who leaned against the passenger’s side door of the Impala that was parked next to Dad’s monstrous GMC in the double driveway. Sam just continued on to the front door, not even bothering to call out to Dad that he needed to hang around.

Leader of their pack. Alpha. Omega. Heat.

Dad already knew. Even if Sam hadn’t reminded him just that very morning of his approaching heat, Dad would’ve been able to smell Sam coming just now from a mile off. Though Dean wasn’t the leader of their pack, he was still an Alpha, so he would’ve received the same advance warning that Dad had.

Sam kicked off his shoes on entering the house, then dropped his backpack to the carpeted floor of the entryway. He headed into the kitchen because a twenty-four pack of Nestle was a necessity whenever he was in heat considering all the fluids he lost by the bucketful in sweat alone.

Not to mention what was lost when he came a bazillion times in such a short period.

He opened the refrigerator and reached inside to grab a bottle of water. After twisting the cap off and tossing it into the trash can, he took a big gulp. Then he just stood there enjoying the artificial chill flowing against his hot skin, courtesy of Maytag, while the icy cold water simultaneously cooled down his overheated insides.

Using his hip, Sam nudged the door shut as he took a second swig. He turned around, eyes immediately landing on something big and bulky sitting in the middle of the kitchen table.

What was —

Huh, that looked suspiciously like—

It _was_. Shit.

Right in the center of the circular glass tabletop was an envelope. A thick, largish, white envelope with Stanford University’s crest stamped on the upper left hand corner.

An envelope that had been delivered last week while Sam had been enjoying a rare moment at home alone with no one else around. And had been carefully stored under his mattress since he’d first ripped it open and his eyes had greedily read the paragraphs that had promised Sam a solution to his problem along with several colorful, glossy brochures that detailed just where and how he’d be able to accomplish this much wanted solution.

A sound came from across the room. Something dark and dangerous that existed in the land of a rumbling growl. Sam’s eyes rose—

To meet those of the person who had managed to transform from sixteen year old Sam’s illicit heat generated fantasy to current Sam’s real life problem.

Dean stood in the doorway that connected the kitchen to the living room, arms folded across his chest. The expression on his face was harsh, yet blank, but Sam didn’t need to see any emotions playing across his big brother’s too pretty features to know just what all Dean was feeling. Eyes that were dark green and narrowed on Sam expressed them all. The thick heaviness hanging in the air between them contained them all.

Shock. Anger. Disbelief.

Betrayal.

A knot formed in Sam’s stomach. It was a big, invasive weight that made him feel queasy. “You went through my—”

“No.”

“Then—”

“Dad.”

“Why—”

“That’s exactly what _I_ want to know, Sammy. Why. Why are you trying to tear our family apart. Why are you trying to leave us, leave—” Dean’s voice hitched “— _leave me_.”

 _Because I want you. I want you as no brother ever should. I want you as my_ Alpha _. Just you. And that’s never going to happen._ But instead of breathing life into any of the sick, twisted thoughts that had kept him company through many a tortuous, lonely heat, Sam swallowed, his throat making a loud clicking noise.

Dean took a step forward. “Know what Dad was out there saying to me just now?”

Sam eased over to the side, in the direction of the door which led to the backyard, the only way out of the kitchen that didn’t involve putting himself any closer to Dean’s radiating disappointment. “I—”

“He fucking _abjured_ me.”

“What?” The word came out as a breath. Sam stopped moving, sure he couldn’t have heard what he just thought he had. What the fuck had Dad been thinking? Since Sam wanted to go, then Dean should as well? “No, Dean, n-no. You’re—”

“Not mistaken.”

The knot was now in Sam’s chest. “No, no, no. No, he—he _can’t_.”

“Well, he did.”

Sam hadn’t heard the roar of Dad’s truck leaving, so maybe he was still out there and Sam could talk to him, could make him understand. Just because Dad had discovered that Sam wanted to leave didn’t mean they all still didn't need each other, that they all weren't still pack to one another.

Unless...unless Sam’s plan to get away wasn’t the true reason Dad had cast Dean out. What if...what if Dad had found out about Sam’s non-brotherly feelings for Dean? Found out those feelings were the sole reason Sam had been fully committing himself lately to early morning sparring sessions so he knew all the quickest, most effective ways to protect himself from Alphas in preparation for when he finally made a run for it? And had felt forced to make a decision between his two sons that would be in the best interest of their family as a whole.

The dime a dozen Alpha versus the prized Omega who could be mated off in a lucrative match with another family of Hunters.

Dean had never stood a chance.

Sam lurched towards the back door. Because none of this— _none of this_ —was right, was included in any of the careful plans he had made and set into motion after finally accepting that his disgusting feelings for his brother were never going to fade without there being some, _a lot_ , of time and distance between them. Sam had to talk to—

Loud rips filled the air, the very recognizable sound of clothes being shredded during a spur of the moment shift. Then there was a weight on Sam’s back, knocking the half-empty bottle of water out of his hand and bringing him down to the tiled floor of the kitchen just like Dean had done to the Alpha in the bathroom at the Roadhouse. Also, like with the Alpha at the Roadhouse, Dean’s mouth was wide open and spread around tender flesh, the back of a neck this time rather than a throat.

But there was a big difference between this scene and the scene with the Alpha.

Dean would never harm Sam. Sam knew this. Knew this was just Dean’s way of forcing Sam into complete and total submission.

A low whine sounded in the back of Sam’s throat. Because he wanted to submit. In each and every way. Even in all the ways Dean would be disgusted by.

The mouth was removed from Sam’s neck and the weight on his back shifted slightly to the side. Then sharp, jagged claws hooked into the waistband of Sam’s jeans and, with a single yank, ripped right through the seat. Soft fur brushed against Sam’s exposed ass and he realized Dean must’ve gotten his underwear, too.

Fur was replaced by the electric warmth of naked human skin. Paws with deadly claws were replaced by hands which were currently pushing the remnants of Sam’s destroyed clothes down his legs.

“Dean?” Sam questioned, confused. His mind was too fuzzy with heat and want and _Dean_ to really pick up on the deeper meaning of what seemed to be getting ready to happen, but he instinctively knew where this was headed. “Dad—”

“Knows exactly what’s going on. In fact, he’s still outside, making sure there are absolutely no unexpected or unwelcome interruptions to distract us.”

“Distract us?”

“Remember the day you turned seventeen, Sammy?” Dean asked instead of elaborating on the meaning of his statement. “Remember how we discovered what a true gift you truly are? Remember how you locked yourself in the bathroom for most of the day, all pissed off and acting like a pissy little bitch to both me and Dad? I remember that day and always will.” One of Dean’s knees wedged Sam’s legs open and he settled himself between them, then draped himself along Sam’s back. “Because that was also the same day Dad told me that you were mine to claim, that he had chosen _me_ to be your Alpha.”

“Wha—” The question broke off in a sharp gasp as the tip of Dean’s dick slid past the thin membrane of Sam’s purity. Sam could feel Dean’s hard length filling him up.

It was an excruciating beyond belief stretch of Sam’s most intimate parts.

It felt _good_ because it was _right_. Everything that Sam had ever wanted since his very first heat in a dusty dive in middle of nowhere Nebraska.

“But he told me I had to wait. Until you were eighteen and had finished with high school.” A slow pull out. “Then he discovered your little craptastic plans to leave us and decided it was time to speed things up a little.” An easy push back in. “So he abjured me and told me to come in here and to get my fucking pack under control, to get my fucking Omega under control.”

Dean was in as far as he was going to get. He stopped moving.

And Sam felt it. Felt the expansion of the base of Dean’s dick within him, felt it lock them together as an Alpha could only do with an Omega he was mating.

Lips brushed Sam’s shoulder, then Dean’s raspy voice said, “You want to go to college, Sammy, then you go. But I’m coming with you.” A low growl right in Sam’s ear, “And so is our pup.”

Hot warmth bathed Sam’s insides in spurt after scalding spurt.

Sam didn’t come himself. Dean’s knot was much too big and painful for that and Sam's previously unused parts much too tender and sensitive. But reciprocal pleasure didn’t really matter at that moment. Wasn’t important and wasn’t the point. Time enough for that later.

[ ](http://s1234.photobucket.com/user/bluefire986/media/When%20Sam%20Was/Header24revised.jpg.html)

Sam sat on the front porch of the isolated farm that belonged to Grandpa Samuel and Grandma Deanna. He and Dean had moved to Indiana to live with them, and the rest of the Campbell Clan, back before Sam had even begun to show with his first pregnancy rather than heading out to California. They’d made the decision to forgo Sam’s college career because a man heavy with child was something the world was just not ready for. Nor was the discovery that the man in question was able to carry that child because he was a werewolf.

Currently, Sam’s belly was big and swollen with baby number three who was due within the next couple of days. He watched numbers one and two, respectively known with extreme fondness by everyone who had ever met them (with the sole exception of Grandma Deanna) as devious little shits, and as Adam and Jessica to Sam, Dean and Dad.

Taking advantage of the privacy afforded by the acres upon acres of farming and forested land owned by their grandparents, Dean had encouraged their kids to shift although he hadn’t himself. It was obvious that Adam and Jessica thought they were just having playtime with Dada and Grandpa John as they romped around, but Sam knew differently. Although it would be years until it would be verified, it was almost a sure thing that the both of them would turn into Alphas...and this playtime was nothing more than the necessary preparation they would need in order to one day uphold their parts in the never ending battle against evil.

And the battle for their lives.

Ragnarök was coming. If the signs were to be believed that Bobby had identified in the increasingly frigid winters the world over had been experiencing as of late, the inexplicable multitude of sudden earthquakes and the non-stop tsunamis, then it would be happening sooner rather than later.

All Hunters had been conscripted since the beginning of time to defend their maker, Odin, against the wolf Fenrir to the death when Ragnarök arrived. And, truthfully, there was just no amount of preparation in the universe to get oneself ready for the kind of sacrifice that battle would require of all involved.

Sighing, Sam's gaze flicked over to his cousin, who also happened to be the originator of the twins’ nickname. A lopsided smirk on his face, Christian watched Dean and Dad as they play fought with the twins. A time or two in the past, Christian had even joined in and would no doubt do so again in the near future, which was a major improvement from the disgust he used to hold for Sam and Dean in general for their relationship and for John for letting— _encouraging_ —it to happen. They’d met Christian on a handful of friendly occasions throughout the years, but his sneered greeting of _Well, if it isn’t the brother fuckers and their sick daddy_ and the subsequent removal of a good portion of the skin from his face when Dean had ground it against the clapboard covered side of the farm when Sam and Dean had first moved to Indiana, John with them just for the hell of it, had quickly established where they all stood with one another.

Sam wasn’t sure when it had happened, but things had slowly changed. The stigma caused by his unorthodox, incestuous mating with his brother had slowly ebbed away and they were tolerated and loved now, if not quite understood, by most of the relatives they saw on a near daily basis. It was more than Sam had ever expected to receive and promised to just get better from there.

Especially since there had never been an issue, and never would be, with the most important people involved: Dean, Sam, Adam, Jessica and unborn Mary.

Christian huffed in laughter as Adam and Jessica managed to bring Dean down to the ground in a perfectly choreographed tag team move. He called out to Dad, “Your grandkids are some devious little shits, Winchester.”

“I know,” Dad immediately replied, tone brimming with pride.

And, at the age of twenty-four, Sam came to the most important realization of his life:

It wasn't bound to last long with the very real threat of Ragnarök hanging over everyone’s heads, and a single vague passage in _Ulfhednar_ hanging over Sam's alone about two brothers, an Alpha and an Omega, who would be the sole determining factor in the outcome of that battle, but for now he had everything he could possibly want and he was happy.


End file.
